


An Easy Peace

by blueangel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueangel/pseuds/blueangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t know how, but somehow Arianne convinces the Dragon Queen that it is a sound idea to have a Lannister bastard once more upon the throne. So suddenly Myrcella is being torn from Dorne and once more placed in The Red Keep, a Lannister cloak torn from her shoulders and Targaryen colors wrapped around her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Easy Peace

**Author's Note:**

> So I suddenly got an inspiration for a Myrcella/Aegon fic and this is what I wrote. Somehow Aegon and Daenerys conquered Westeros together (without marrying each other) and Septa Lemore is actually Ashara Dayne, but Jon Connington died for grey scale....so here you go.

She thinks it is some kind of a dream when Arianne offers her in marriage to Aegon Targaryen.

 _He is supposed to be yours_ , she had thought. _He does not want me._

She doesn’t know how, but Arianne convinces the Dragon Queen that it is a sound idea to have a Lannister bastard once more upon the throne. So suddenly Myrcella is being torn from Dorne and once more placed in The Red Keep, a Lannister cloak torn from her shoulders and Targaryen colors wrapped around her.

 _Is this some cruel jape,_ she had wanted to scream.

Aegon barely looked at her on their wedding day, and Daenerys refused to. Myrcella had thought the Dornish, or at least Arianne, a very skilled dragon charmer.  Indeed, the Martells had congratulated her on her marriage, while she had barely concealed the malice that was hidden beneath a polite smile. She had thought them snakes, all of them, even Trystane, who had kissed her forehead and whispered warm wishes in her ear.

Her marriage bed is cold, Myrcella is thankful for that. She does not think she could bear to have him touch her. She knows Aegon must feel the same. They barely speak and he spends most of his days either in the presence of his aunt and the court, or down in the Dragonpit- where he comes back covered in soot and smelling of smoke and ash.

For her it is a lonely life. Myrcella spends most of her days in the library or the gardens, where people are scarce and she is less likely to be bothered. Not that those at court would bother with her. Most go out of their way to avoid her, wary of the ghosts that seem to follow her wherever she goes. So Myrcella is left to be ostracized by those she once called friends; she takes comfort in her books and in the hounds that follow her when she takes her walks among the grounds.

 Sometimes Myrcella thinks of her mother; of the figure that had comforted her when she had been sent to Dorne.

_Do not let them see you cry my little lioness._

Myrcella does not weep, not even when the execution of her parents is announced. Rather, she retreats to the farthest corner of the library; a place where the screams cannot be heard, and the smell of burning flesh is lessened. It is there that she weeps- weeps for the mother she knew and the father she barely laid eyes upon these past years.

There is no one to comfort her here, not even Uncle Tyrion, who now spends his time as Lord of the Westerlands and Warden of the West, and no one shall offer condolences for the Mad Queen and the Kingslayer. So she is left to cry alone, hidden away by old tomes.

That night she takes her dinner in her chambers, barely touching the food set in front of her.

‘’Your highness.’’ A servant knocks at the door.

‘’Come in.’’ A boy of no more than ten steps into her chambers and hands her a cup of wine.

‘’What is this? I already have wine.’’ The boy flushes.

‘’It is from Her Grace- Dreamwine.’’   

‘’Oh,’’ Myrcella plucks the cup up, and wonders at the spicy scent that permeates from it. ‘’ You may go.’’ She murmurs to the boy. Myrcella does not even watch him go, but wets her lip in the spicy liquid. It is surprisingly sweet. She downs the goblet, feeling the burning in her throat, and hoping that it would give her rest that night.

It is a strange thing, kindness, she thinks, but then the world is a strange place and these are strange circumstances.

* * *

 

Myrcella enters the Great Hall the next day, head held high, not a tear to be found on her face, not even when she sees the scorch marks on the floor.  

* * *

 

Aegon comes to her bed once a month- the greatest farce there ever was. Both of them barely speaking, and sleeping at the opposite ends of the bed- both of them trying not to touch each other.

But it is this night that she works up the courage to turn to him, ‘'My Lord, if I you would allow me this favor- if you could allow me to visit my brother at Casterly Rock, I would be forever grateful.’’ His shoulders turn ridged as he turns to face her, but she knows she can’t back down- not now.

 Myrcella think that in another world they would have been happy. He was striking- with silver hair and violet eyes, and she had heard that he could be kind to those who did not share the name Lannister.

In this life though, his face shows no warmth, no compassion. Not to her. Instead, he frowns at her and proclaims, ‘’I do not think such a thing is possible.’’ His voice is cold, and she wants to scream at him that he has taken everything else from her-taken her parents, no matter how bitter or broken they were. Could he not do this one kindness for her and allow her this chance to visit the only family she had left?

But Cersei Lannister had taught her well-taught her to mind her courtesies, even in the most dire of situation. Yet she finds herself pleading, ‘’Please, just this once.’’

His face does not soften when he turns his back to her, but in the last moments before she goes to sleep he gruffly replies, ‘’ I shall speak to Daenerys,’’ and something in Myrcella’s heart begins to ache as she tries not to cry at the chance of seeing her youngest brother again.

‘’Thank you.’’ She whispers.

* * *

 

‘’Are you sure you do you not wish to travel in a litter, my lady?’’ Aegon asks.

Myrcella grins. ‘’No, I prefer to travel by horse.’’ She touches her horse’s snout as the animal shakes its mane.’’ Besides I traveled from Dorne to Kingslanding by Sand Steed, Kingslanding to Casterly Rock is not so difficult.’’ He nods his understanding before lifting her onto her horse; his hands hot on her hips.

‘’I shall eagerly wait for you return my lady.’’

‘’I very much doubt that my Prince,’’ Myrcella says bluntly. She sees surprise flash in his eyes before she kicks her horse into a gallop, her escort following behind her.

* * *

 

She finds Casterly Rock to be the opposite of The Red Keep- like complete freedom. Myrcella spends as much time as she can along the beach with Tommen, both of them splashing in the waves until their clothes and hair become soaked with sand and seawater- both of them laughing until their sides ache, as if they were children again at the edge of Blackwater Bay, and Myrcella finds that she has not tasted anything as sweet as this freedom.

She tries to distinguish every moment there- place the way Tommen’s hair curls, or how easily he laughs. Her little brother is a miracle, for all her mother’s prodding he was still sweet and good.  It hurt her to see him so innocent and sometimes she even envied it.

And her Uncle….

Myrcella, for whatever he has done, does not avoid her uncle. She finds him scarred, her clever uncle; in more ways than one. She had wanted to hate him for what he had done- hated him for mother and father and grandfather; for what he had done to their family, but she had seen upon her arrival the guilt, which had been present in his eyes when he looked at her. So she had stored away the anger and the bitterness deep inside her, and smiled.

She sits with him now, Tommen fast asleep, his head on her lap.

‘’He has missed you,’’ Tyrion offers. Myrcella runs her fingers through her brother’s golden curls and wonders how anyone in the whole seven kingdoms could think them anything but Lannister’s.

‘’And I have missed him, I have missed all of you.’’ Myrcella feels the tears running down her cheeks; sees them drip into Tommen’s hair. He does not wake. She feels something in her break and soon Tyrion is sending Tommen to his room as she sobs into her uncle’s lap. Myrcella rambles about how alone she feels: how she wishes she could stay at Casterly Rock forever. Myrcella knows that if her mother saw her at that moment she would tell her to stop acting so _childish_ , but her mother had been burned away by dragons, and so it is Tyrion who cards his fingers through her hair and whispers reassurances in her ear.

‘’I don’t want to be my mother,’’ she confesses when she is out of tears. ‘’ I don’t want to become her, but sometimes I think I am just like her-‘’ Myrcella bites at her lip to keep her next words from tumbling out, _they say she was mad. I do not want to be mad._

‘’You are not your mother, sweetling; you could never be her. You are too good, you and Tommen both. Do you understand?’’ Even with the scars marring his face Myrcella can see the love in his mismatched eyes; it makes her throw her arms around him.

* * *

 

Myrcella stays at Casterly Rock three moons longer than originally agreed upon. She suspects it is Tyrion’s doing, but not even he can keep her from the capital forever.

So she rides back to Kingslanding with a retinue behind her, and Tyrion’s well wishes to her Grace and his Highness in hand.

* * *

 

A tourney is held at Highgarden, and though she has never particularly cared for them, she marvels at the gardens which it seems not even winter can diminish. It helps that Sansa is such a good hostess, the older girl inviting Myrcella to dine with her.

The Lady of Highgarden is not the same one she remembers when she was just a girl. Sansa Tyrell seems to be made of steel beneath her courtesies, and Myrcella inwardly cringes at the tales that circulate about the woman who took Winterfell back.

‘’How is your brother Lady Tyrell?’’ She asks politely

‘’Bran is in good health, he has taken to ruling well.’’ Sansa nibbles at a lemon cake, a delicacy in the winter, but if the rumors were true Willas Tyrell could not deny his wife anything; especially when her stomach was swelling with their first child.

They speak of nothings the whole dinner and she is surprised how much she has missed this type of easy communication- craves it, and soon she is so caught up in it that Myrcella is startled when she feels a hand laid on her own.  

‘’I hope, whatever our pasts, that we may still be friends.’’ Sansa’s words are so warm and sweet that Myrcella cannot help but be at ease around her.

‘’Of course.’’

She once more curses her brother for what he did to Eddard Stark’s oldest daughter, and she wishes more than anything that she could apologize for her family’s sins, but it seemed to her that all the apologies in the world would never be enough.

‘’How can you not hate me?’’ Myrcella asks. Sansa takes her hand back and leans back into her plush velvet chair, an utterly content look on her face as she places a hand on her growing belly. 

‘’I put no stock in punishing children for the sins of their parents.’’ She says after a time.

* * *

 

It is not a surprise when Aegon passes her over as Queen of Love and Beauty. Instead, crowning Ashara Dayne, and for a moment Myrcella cannot help but soften towards her husband as the older woman blushes and kisses his forehead, a look of pride in her eyes- a mother’s pride.

The feast that night is as rich as the one on her wedding day. All of Westeros seemed to fill the Great Hall of Highgarden, all of them drunk on Arbor Gold and peace. Myrcella knows well enough that her cheeks and lips are stained from Dornish Red.

She sits content at the table, between Sansa and Roslin Tully. The latter not terribly talkative, but she was gentle enough; smiling as her husband danced with their young daughter in his arms, the young girl stepping on her father’s feet to put her arms about his waist.

‘’Your daughter is lovely,’’ Myrcella comments. Roslin’s lips turn upwards.

‘’She is the picture of her father.’’ Serra Tully does indeed has the Tully look: red haired with bright blue eyes- she has no doubt that the girl would grow to be a beauty, like Sansa Tyrell and Catelyn Stark before her.

‘’It has been a long time your Highness.’’  Myrcella startles and turns to see Edric Dayne before her. The Lord of Starfall, handsome and young, grins from ear to ear as she stands to greet him.

‘’Is it good to see you again Edric,’’ she intones softly. Myrcella finds herself smiling as Edric holds out his hand to her- an invitation to dance. She does not think as she takes his hand, but she knows the court watches her now- follows her every movement, and there will no doubt be rumors of her promiscuity in the morning. She doesn’t care though. Not when she hasn’t seen her friend in so long.  

Myrcella chuckles as Edric twirls her around, feeling lighter and lighter as he leads her through one of the many court dances.

‘’It has been too long,’’ she mummers breathlessly, as he pulls her to him. ‘’ I have missed you.’’

‘’And I you,’’ his too blue eyes sparkle with mirth as he keeps her close.’’ I swear you get more beautiful every time I see you ‘Cella.’’ Too used to his flirting she doesn’t even blush at his comment.

‘’My, what would Trystane say?’’ She comments lightly, the dance is almost at an end but she wishes it would never stop, not when Edric can make her laugh and flirt- not when he makes her feel like the girl she once was.

‘’Oh, I doubt he would mind if you joined us,’’ he replies as she throws her head back and laughs. The dance ends, and with a flourish he leads her back to the table where Roslin looks utterly scandalized and Sansa just smiles knowingly. Myrcella wishes she could tell her new friend that nothing is going on between her and Edric; that they are nothing more than friends, but she thinks that the wine has gotten to her head because she can’t utter a word. Rather, she sits down and tries not chuckle at the memory of catching Trystane with dear Edric.

Across the hall she meets Aegon’s eyes, his face unreadable. Her fists clench in her seat, because she doesn’t care what he thinks, she owes him nothing.

* * *

 

Two moons later, once they are back at Kingslanding, the Queen invites her other nephew to court, and Jon Snow seems to slip into their lives as if he had always been there. Indeed, there is something in Jon Snow which leaves the court in fear and in awe of the Lord Commander. Perhaps it is the rumors of his resurrection, or the Direwolf that follows at his heels- Myrcella cannot tell.

Still, she enjoys his company. Where Daenerys and Aegon seem to crackle with a sort of energy, Jon stands calm, and for her it is a sort of balm to the never ending parade at court.

More often than not she sees him in the gardens with his wolf, walking among the dead foliage, and sometimes she shall join him as they speak of pleasant things: of his sister and of Alys Karstark, who expects her third child in just two months time.

‘’ You remind me of your father.’’ She admits one day. Myrcella slows when his pace falters. ‘’ I mean that you remind me of Lord Eddard,’’ she continues, ‘’ not Prince Rhaegar.’’ His footsteps do not falter again, and his face shows no emotion; and she hopes she has not overstepped some boundary.

 ‘’I did not mean to offend. I only meant-‘’ Jon stops walking and touches her arm gently.

 ‘’You did not offend me. It’s just…no one has spoken of my father in a very long time.’’ A shadow crosses his face, and Myrcella remembers the praises that were sung of Rhaegar by both Aegon and Daenerys.

‘’You mean Lord Eddard.’’ 

‘’Yes.’’

‘’He was a kind man, from what I remember.’’ In truth, she thinks that Jon Snow is the very likeness of his father: solemn, honorable, but compassionate.

Myrcella startles as Ghost drifts to her side as quietly as his namesake suggests, and with a little courage she runs her fingers through his fur.  The wolf seems to ignore her in favor of walking to his master’s side and bumping his head into Jon’s chest.

‘’I remember when they were all just pups.’’ She recalls her mother wanting them chained, and when Sansa’s wolf-she does not like to think of it, does not like to think that, that was what had started all the pain for Sansa Stark, and Arya Stark-

‘’Your Highness?’’ Myrcella does not even realize that she has stopped until Jon is touching her shoulder, a concerned look coming across his face.

 She avoids his gaze. ‘’So much has changed.’’ Her words are so quiet that Myrcella does not think he hears, but then he squeezes her shoulder and she knows that he understands.

* * *

 

Myrcella sits in the Godswood; the day is warm, warmer than it’s been in years, and she takes the time to revel in it. Winter has been so long that she prays that it is coming to an end; prays for the spring that the realm needs, for spring is hope: hope that the peace would last and that the supernatural forces that seemed to forever be plaguing them would come to an end. And it seemed that her gods had abandoned her, so she pleads with the Northmen’s gods to grant her wishes.

It is the sound of horse’s hooves that wakes her from her reverie. To her surprise it is Ser Barristan that lifts her from ground and into his saddle, and she is too shocked to object as they ride back to the castle.

‘’Ser Barristan,’’ she protests as he lifts her from the saddle, ‘’what is happening?’’ He ignores her and leads her to Maegor’s Holdfast, and it takes all her strength to stop him and turn him to her. ‘’Ser please,’’ she whispers, ‘’have I done something wrong? Have I done something to offend them?’’ Myrcella cannot keep the fear from her voice; she more than anyone realizes that she is dancing on the edge of a knife.

The knight’s face softens. ‘’No, my princess, but one of the dragons has gotten loose.’’

‘’Oh gods.’’ Ser Barristan takes her gently by the arm and leads her down the halls until he comes to the door at the end and gently guides her in. ‘’ Ser Barristan why am I here? Who’s-‘’

‘’ The Prince bid me to bring you here with the instructions that you are not to leave under any circumstances.’’ For a moment Myrcella wonders why Aegon would even care for her safety, when he has never shown any inclination.

‘’Thank you Ser Barristan,’’ she mummers as the knight leaves, and she goes to sit by the fire. Myrcella wait and listens- for the roaring of dragons or the feel of fire- but it never comes. It is only later, when sleep has taken her, that the doors open and Aegon stumbles in bruised and bloody.

She does not even second guess herself as she rushes to catch him as he falls, he leans against her, heavy and slipping into unconsciousness.

‘'Aegon,’’ she clenches her teeth as he starts to slip, his weight too much to bear and his armor cutting into her skin, but she manages to push herself up enough to grab the edge of a table.

‘’Myrcella please I need help,’’ he mummers into her neck. ‘’ I need you to go get the maester.’’ She ignores his ramblings and presses his weight against her as she goes into his inner chambers. As gently as she could she deposited him on the bed; even then he hissed at wound on his leg.

‘’I’ll go get the maester,’’ she says absently, already running out of the room. Myrcella runs and runs and runs, alerting every guard and maid to find the maester and brings him to the Prince’s room, until one of the maids tells her that the maester is tending to Aegon. Then she is left to go back to her chambers, exhausted and covered in blood (she thinks absently that it is the closest she’s been to wearing red in a very long time), but it is then she meets Daenerys in the hall.

The Queen is fortunate not to bear as many cuts and burns as her nephew, but still she bleeds.

‘’I am glad to see you are unharmed, Your Grace,’’ Myrcella says with a bow. Even after all this time the Dragon Queen still frightens her, though she would never show it; but there is something _empty_ about Daenerys Targaryen which makes her flinch away from the older woman, as if she is not a woman of flesh and blood, but of fire and steel.  

Daenerys smiles, ‘’Are you?’’ The Queen’s eyes roam over Myrcella’s stained skirts with a cool sort of stare, before meeting Myrcella’s gaze, and she can’t help but wonder if this is how it feels to stand before a dragon.  

‘’Of course.’’ 

‘’Goodnight Lady Myrcella,’’ Daenerys says politely, brushing Myrcella’s shoulder, and with a shudder she feels the heat coming off the Queen in waves _. Blood of the Dragon_ , she thinks.

* * *

 

 Aegon sends for her a fortnight after the dragon is brought back to the pit, and she wonders, not for the first time, what his sudden fascination with her is. Nonetheless, she enters his chambers with cautious steps and a smile painted on her face.

When she enters his chambers he is sitting by the fire, a pensive look on his face as he stares at the flames, and she imagines that he is thinking of Rhaegal nearly setting fire to Kingslanding-the mighty beast he rode in battle almost destroying the kingdom he and his aunt were trying to rebuild.

‘’You wanted to see my Lord?’’ She asks. Not even waiting for his permission she sits across from him, as he seems to adjust to her presence: his shoulders tightening and his back straightens, as if he had to magnify himself in her presence.   

‘’Yes,’’ he says, ‘’ I just wanted to thank you-‘’

‘’There is no need, ’’ she interrupts, ‘’ anyone would have done the same.’’ His eyes search her face, for what, she isn’t sure, but she feels her smile falter; soon it is no longer there and she is left feeling weary.

Finally his gaze returns his back to the fire, ‘’ Yes I’m sure you’re right.’’ His fists clench in the arms of his chair, and for one moment Myrcella is afraid that she has somehow made him angry, but his face shows no anger; as always his face is unreadable.

‘’Is that all,’’ Myrcella asks quietly, growing uncomfortable with the silence.

‘’No- no I,’’ his eyebrows furrow in frustration and he stands as he addresses her,’’ I know this marriage was ill suited, but my Lady-Myrcella I wish for you to be comfortable here. One day, we shall rule together, so if there is anything-‘’

Myrcella stands, her hands almost tearing her skirts as her grip on them tightens in anger. ‘’ Why do you care,’’ she says incredulously. ‘’ All this time you and the Queen have kept me prisoner. All of this time you have kept me from my family and let me wander these halls as if I were a ghost. _Your burnt my kin_ , and do not even offer your condolences. So why not burn me to? Do you like to watch me suffer?’’ She lets out a shaky breath, as Aegon’s face flushes with anger; his pride hurt.

 _Good_ , she thinks, _let his pride be wounded and let this farce of ours be finished. I am no longer afraid of dragon flame._

She turns her back and leaves.

* * *

 

 Myrcella waits to be called into the Great Hall, waits to be placed on her knees and called a traitor. She waits four days.

It is on the fifth that Ashara Dayne visits her.

The older woman has the guard announce her before she enters Myrcella’s chambers before she quietly sits next to Myrcella at the edge of the window.

‘’Have you come to announce my execution,’’ Myrcella says bluntly, closing her book.

The eldest Dayne frowns. ‘’ No, your Highness, I’ve just come to speak with you. It has been such a busy time that I have never been able to properly get to know you, and I am sorry for that.’’

Myrcella meets the Dornishwoman’s eyes and sighs.

‘’You know you are quite like Joanna,’’ Ashara continues, ‘’ and not just in looks either, but in temperament. I was not but a child when we met, but I remember thinking her very beautiful and very kind.’’

‘’Why are you telling me this?’’ Myrcella asks. Ashara smiles softly and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

‘’I told you this because there was a time when not all Lannister’s were feared, or shamed. Once, it was a great house, and I believe one day it shall be again.’’

* * *

 

Myrcella doesn’t much like court, and so she stands at the edge until Daenerys dismisses them all, but even as the Queen exits the room, Myrcella stays, because Aegon waits for her, and it is he who approaches her and offers his arm.

‘’My Lady,’’ Myrcella takes his arm and together they stroll through the more deserted parts of the Red Keep, walking in an uncomfortable silence, both of them wanting to speak, but unable to find the right words.

Finally, it is Aegon who speaks in hushed tones. ‘’It was Lady Ashara who taught me  the history of Westeros, and the history of my house-she spared no truths- that I can tell you, but it was Lord Connigton who taught me what it meant to be king, what it meant to lead. He was a great man, and at one time I thought he was truly my father, but my Lady,’’ Aegon clears his throat and stops her from walking, ‘’ the one thing he forgot to teach me was humility, and though Lady Ashara tried; I am afraid I never took to her lessons,’’ he absently fingers the scar on his throat, smiling grimly, ‘’I am afraid my dear aunt had the privilege of teaching me that lesson. What I wish to say is that I am sorry I caused you such pain, and I wish I could spare you-‘’

‘’But you couldn’t. My mother was a pretender and my father the Kingslayer,’’ Myrcella says bitterly, letting her arm slip from his.

‘’No I could not. Every day and every night I was and told again and again, the circumstance of my mother’s death, the Lannisters were painted as monsters and the Starks and Baratheons- traitors. In truth, I did not seek retribution for house Targaryen, but for my mother, and so when it came time I could not grant Cersei and Jamie Lannister clemency- I could not grant Tywin Lannister’s children mercy. I have been unkind to you, I know, and for that I am sorry.’’ Aegon takes a step back, putting some distance between them as she contemplates his words.

‘’I did not like my grandfather much, and though I loved my mother I believe I never truly knew her, or my father,’’ Myrcella offers, and with an easy sort of grace she takes his arm again.

* * *

 

More and more often Myrcella joins the ladies of the court, and reluctantly she and Daenerys speak in polite and clipped tones, and when it comes for her nameday both Tyrion and Tommen are invited to court (and even then she cannot express how happy she was to see her family again), and more often than not Myrcella and Aegon are in each other’s company: walking and speaking of court and dining together.

Aegon gives her little gifts: a seashell comb or a ribbon, (once he gives her a fire opal pendant hung on a chain of gold, and she brushes a kiss on his lips for it).

It is an easy sort of truce between them- both of them trying to build something, and trying to put the past to rest- no matter how hard that may be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you liked it!


End file.
